Sometimes it just seems too “peoply” out there. Don’t get me wrong, I love people. I enjoy extended time with friends and families. I love going to work and encountering new individuals of all ages. But I am an extroverted introvert.

There is something in me that screams for alone time. If I am in a crowd with loud voices too long, I physically react. My senses overload. My ears ring, my heart races, and I feel incredibly anxious.

I have a very large extended family and as a child, family events were often challenging. If I could, I would hide for a while in a bedroom or bathroom, just to find a quiet corner away from the loud laughter. Sometimes, grandma would join me (apparently we were cut from the same cloth).

As a teenager, I learned to limit my time in indoor gymnasiums and other loud gatherings. (Outdoor events have never had quite the same effect.). As a young mother, I braced myself against the reaction to crying babies. I rocked and sang as much to calm myself down as to calm the children.

This past Saturday, we spent the most wonderful day with family. An hour car ride provided ample time to catch up. This was followed with a two hour Christmas concert to kick off the holidays, a pleasant dinner in a crowded restaurant, a few hours visiting and playing games, and another hour in the car riding home. Each segment of the day was fun. I love the people and I loved the activities.

Sunday, I woke up and went to church. We were greeters. I exchanged smiles and good wishes with dozens of people. After church, my husband asked if I wanted to go to the store. I answered, “no”. Just no. The extrovert had disappeared.

We made it home and all I wanted was to put on my comfy clothes and lay in a dark room. My people meter was depleted. I needed solitude like I needed air. My husband knew I was out of sorts and asked what was wrong. I answered “nothing”. He asked if I was sure. Each question made me feel like I was gasping for air. I found things to do in another room. He came into the room to be near me. He loves me and wanted to make sure I was okay. The introvert had roared to life and I desperately needed to be alone, to stop interacting, to not have to explain why I stopped interacting. Ah, the idiosyncrasies of the extroverted introverts.

When I need to be alone, I am like a drowning man thrashing in the water. I roam around looking for a place to be. Usually, I head to the woods for a solo hike or spend a few hours in the bath. Eventually, I can relax and reset. When I need to be with people, I seek connection with the same urgency.

I am currently sitting in my comfy chair and dreaming of the big family gatherings for Christmas. I can’t wait for everyone to be here. Once they are here, I know it won’t be long until I am looking for a quiet place to regroup. The life of an extroverted introvert is complicated.